Buried up to the neck and suffocating.
Characters: Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang.
Location: Training grounds.
Rating: PG? PG-13? You know what, no. Everything's going to be happy. Smack a G on this thing.
Time: August 27th, morning.
Description: A dead man and his old friend Hughes meet again. Not under the planned circumstances.
( For lack of a better thing to say: continue. )
Location: Training grounds.
Rating: PG? PG-13? You know what, no. Everything's going to be happy. Smack a G on this thing.
Time: August 27th, morning.
Description: A dead man and his old friend Hughes meet again. Not under the planned circumstances.
( For lack of a better thing to say: continue. )
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Briefly, a conversation he caught on the network a day or so back came to mind - Hughes, and that kid, Kaworu. Should he?
...Maybe not. Especially now that he managed to light up just fine.
(Disconcerting, perhaps, how all it took was a change of scenery and tombstone to change everything between them, and make them incapable of being open with each other.)
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There. The question that had eaten at him for a while - ever since a few conversations, from Sakura to Kaworu, and one that made him look right at the back of Roy's head, even though it wasn't near as preferable as seeing the man's face.
Body language would do, though. Hopefully. Though it'd changed enough that he'd be more worried than normal, if he wasn't already past 'over worried.'
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It was the truth, plain and simple - that everyone had to contribute to the war effort if they wanted to end the war any faster was also a fact. It wasn't like the training sessions were mandatory. The people who came around for training were there because they wanted to fight, and Roy wasn't about to stop them.
He was only going to bring up that point, though, if it was absolutely necessary to do so.
"Hughes..." at least he didn't choke on the name, anymore. "We can't talk properly if you're going to keep circling."
Maybe he had avoided things long enough, or maybe he needed more time but apparently couldn't have it. Either way.
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Not much time for thinking, when Roy was saying something like that and he was being brought up short.
"I..." No, no, not a trail off. That was one thing he was never supposed to do. Or stray now that Roy was the one to bring it up (a very valid point to bring up, too, one that was good to meet head-on--) "... Not sure what to say, Roy."
A beat. No, that was truth. He was a bit surprised at himself that that was a truth.
He'd bite his lip, if he were the sort. Instead, pushing at his glasses, (saying 'it's more your turn to talk' wouldn't go over well), "How... long has it been?" Probably not the best question, either, but it sort of slipped out.
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His cigarette was burning itself out on its own because he was barely touching it; Roy brought it back up to his lips, now that he had the decency to remember that it was there. The gesture lent him just enough balance, enough for him to venture another look in Hughes' direction.
"A little over a year."
Roy hoped, for his sake, that his expression and the tone of his voice didn't betray too much. It was probably pointless to want for such a thing, but recent events left him feeling very selfish.
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Everyone. Really, everyone-- he'd tried his hardest not to get anyone else involved in his own set of investigation, but he'd known about this kind of consequence. Maybe he'd been a bit of a fool in hoping it wouldn't have turned out so bad.
No, completely a fool, if he read enough into Roy's tone (it was there, yes, just as it always was).
Utterly a fool, to hope one sentence would be enough to prompt the rest from Mustang. He'd avoid twenty questions on his part for as long as he could.
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And there should have been words, should have been something more than just this mess of emotion and memory. He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to have resolved himself to taking on everything by himself, rising to the challenges, answering, clearly and perfectly, any questions that could've been thrown his way.
"What you started, it... it cleared the way for everything else."
Shame, though, that Maes Hughes had to die for it. That Roy could've been there to stop it, but hadn't been.
He could feel himself curling up in on himself, both literally and figuratively, at the very thought of it.
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And he was. It was the single positive thing about it all that he could see. He'd done it on purpose, and he could tell the others were starting up with the blame on themselves, but--
It had been things they needed to know. And they'd known there was the possibility to die. It was completely different to confront, impossible to prepare for, but they all knew. (If he was to be honest with himself, his only true regrets were with Gracia, Elysia and not being able to warn the other in time. another one with not being able to continue in his promise, ( ... )
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